


Blabbermouth

by Dean_Wax



Category: Original Work
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Consent Issues, High School, Kissing, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Marijuana, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Sexual Repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-28 05:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19805896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dean_Wax/pseuds/Dean_Wax
Summary: Riley’s big mouth always lands him in hot water. At his new school, it lands him between two feuding step-brothers.





	1. Meeting Ken

Riley Meadows-Worthington had a big last name and an even bigger mouth. His parents were both psychologists, one specialising in Family Psychology and one specialising in Clinical Child Psychology. As a result, Riley had grown up in loving, considerate environment where communication was always, always encouraged. He’d taken this encouragement and run with it, able to talk at a mile a minute by age four. The words ‘bright’, ‘charismatic’ and ‘effervescent’ featured regularly on his school reports. His mother helped him work through Appropriate Behaviour Management when he got comments like ‘difficulty focusing’ and ‘distraction to the class’. His father helped him understand the concept of conflict resolution, even when that conflict was just with his own feelings. Truly, the family home was his oyster, but he was never afraid to try new things.

However, having parents who were so well-respected in their fields did have its setbacks. Their work took them to a wide range of universities and institutions all across the country. By senior year, Riley was on school number six and fresh starts were old news. Fortunately, he considered himself an old salt at making new friends. It wasn’t really a question of _picking_ the right type of person, really, for all the students were fair game for making friends: from the track team to the chess club, from preps to goths and everyone in between, even those out on the fringes. Everyone was worth making friends with once you got to know them as an individual.  
  
Riley himself was more on the preppy side with a touch of homosexual flair. Dressed in jean shorts, tube socks and mustard-yellow sneakers, his t-shirt was rainbow-striped but in a muted, washed-out tone, and that wasn’t on account of being old: far from it. The Meadows-Worthington household was very affluent, not that he’d stand out for it at this school. The whole area was upper-middle class but the school encouraged diversity insofar that it let its predominantly Caucasian and Asian student body dye their hair unnatural colours if they wanted to, and the student counsellor was LGBT-friendly and non-denominational. Riley’s hair was on the copper side of strawberry blond, long enough to be brushed in waves across the top of his head while the sides were snipped short. A smattering of freckles frames his hazel eyes: his mother said they reminded her of stars.  
  
He was starry-eyed indeed at the end of his first day at his sixth school, ready to seize the opportunity that came with the collective stress relief of the final school bell. Of course, teenagers could be apprehensive to social approaches, so the best way to start talking to someone was encounters of pure happenstance. So when he stopped to apply some peach chapstick in the reflection of one of the windows in the science block and a boy walked past behind him, Riley didn’t miss a beat in capping his lip balm and hurrying after him.

The boy was dressed in mostly black and he walked in big, loping strides. Nimble footsteps probably weren’t on the menu with heavy Doc Martens like that. Still, Riley had been on his way back from speaking to Coach Byers about trying out for the track team, so he caught up easily.  
  
“Hi!” he said brightly, coming up beside the other boy. “I’m Riley!”  
  
The boy didn’t stop walking, but his speed slowed a fraction, which was a good sign. When he looked over at Riley, only half of his face was visible on account of an oversized black fringe swept over one side of his face. Half of that fringe was dyed a bright, cobalt blue. Now that Riley was beside him, he could see that although his jeans and hoodies were black, his t-shirt was a deep, hunter green with little white pinstripes. The boy looked more surprised that Riley was talking to him than anything else.

“...Ken,” he offered his name somewhat suspiciously. He glanced over his shoulder as they walked.  
  
“Hi Ken,” Riley carried on, unphased. “I just started here today. I haven’t met many people yet. Are you… are you meeting someone?” he asked curiously, distracted by how Ken was watching the corners of the buildings closely as they approached.  
  
Ken’s lips pulled into a mix between a grimace and a snickering grin. “Not if I can help it,” he chuckled, glancing back at Riley. “Although I didn’t expect to be followed.”  
  
“Well, I thought we could get to know each other,” Riley bat his eyelids innocently, as though the very notion of being underfoot was a completely alien concept.  
  
“I’m headed a-ways off school grounds,” Ken said evasively. “Do you have someone picking you up, or…?”  
  
“That’s fine!” Riley chimed. “I walk home anyway, and I can always Uber if I need to.”  
  
Just then, a group of boys passed by on a distant path. Jostling and passing a basketball between them, one of their sneakers squeaked loudly against the pavement. The sound caused Ken to jerk, whipping his head around to the source of the noise. His body relaxed as soon as he saw the basketballers in the distance, but by then, the damage was done: his fringe had displaced and parted like a curtain, revealing a dark purple bruise under his left eye. It was a few days old at the most.  
  
Riley gasped. “What happened?!”  
  
Ken froze up for a moment, his brown eyes quickly darting over Riley’s face and even his outfit, too, making an assessment of just how sincere he might be. “Don’t worry about it,” he said after another moment, frowning as he smoothed his fringe back into place.  
  
Riley wasn’t having any of it. “That’s deflecting!” he complained, tugging at the boy’s elbow to stop him. “Who hurt you? Are being victimised?”  
  
“What’s wrong with you?!” Ken grunted, swatting the boy’s hand away. “You talk like textbook!”  
  
“Well this is a textbook situation,” Riley quipped back stubbornly, lips pursed. He was quick to put two and two together. “Was it one of the boys on the basketball team? Is that why you had a fight or flight response at the sound of their shoes?”

“What the fuck,” Ken said in wonder, taking a step back. His eyes flicked over the boy’s cutesy, sunshine-and-rainbows outfit once more. “Why do you look like that but act like this?”  
  
“This is important!” Riley snapped, putting his hands on his hips. Realising his body language was confrontational, he winced and dropped his hands again, displaying an open palm as he walked closer. “I want to help you, Ken,” he said. “If someone’s giving you black eyes, I can help stop it.”  
  
“No you can’t,” Ken scoffed in disbelief. “You’re just some dweeb who ate the dictionary.”  
  
“I did _not_ ,” Riley groused. “My parents are psychologists. I know what I’m talking about.”  
  
Ken’s eyes gained a manic sort of gleam to them and he started laughing. It started out as hiccupping little chuckles, before it bloomed into all-out mirth. “The height of weird,” he awarded the redhead the title with an air of gravity managing through his grin, shaking his head. “And here I thought I was the school freak.”  
  
It was the first time Riley had ever been called ‘weird’. He’d been called a lot of things: ‘nerd’ and ‘annoying’ were popular choices thanks to his vocabulary and his tendency to use it, but ‘weird’ was a new one. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but the way that Ken was smiling and laughing now didn’t seem inherently malicious. More like simple teasing. Feeling colour rise in his cheeks as he took a moment to reflect on his actions, he stuck his hands in his back pockets and looked away guiltily.  
  
“I’m sorry I got so aggressive,” he admitted with a pout. “I’ve had a lot of friends who’ve been badly bullied, so it’s something I’m really passionate about.”  
  
“Is that what you call ‘aggressive’, is it?” Ken asked, still chuckling. It seemed the boy had a fairly dark sense of humour, judging by the thousand-yard stare that showed up in his bruised eye especially.  
  
“You know what I mean,” Riley gestured vaguely in the air, throwing his hands up in defeat as they started walking together again.  
  
“Yeah, I get it,” Ken shrugged, tilting his head. They kept walking for another school block before he spoke again. “My step-brother’s a cunt.”  
  
Riley startled. It did occur to him, in retrospect, that Ken had needed to let his guard down first before he’d talk about the incident. “He did that to you?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Was it an accident?” Riley pressed. “Or did you get in a fight?”  
  
Ken snickered again. “I guess you could call it a fight,” he said, tilting his head back to stare up at the sky. “I pushed his buttons a little too hard, but he had it coming. He fucked with one of my plants.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Riley tilted his head. “Like, he killed a plant of yours? I don’t know much about keeping or killing plants at all, all I’ve done is grow some bean sprouts in science class, fifth grade.”  
  
“Not one of my _plants_ -plants,” Ken began, then shook his head and abandoned his first attempt at an explanation. “It was a succulent. Like a cactus but without the spikes, you know? I like growing stuff, so I’ve got a lot in my room. And Steve just fucking _stomped_ it right in front of me. Man, I was so angry.”  
  
“So what did you do?” Riley asked.  
  
This time, Ken fixed Riley with a dark, knowing grin when he said: “Don’t worry about it.”

Riley huffed, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me. But where are we going?” The school had run out of building for them to walk by, and they weren’t headed in the right direction for the sports fields. Riley knew because he had toured the grounds with his parents the previous Saturday.  
  
“Extra-curricular activities,” Ken said, with a much warmer, close-lipped smile.  
  
Riley narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It seemed like Ken was a fairly guarded person, and he was sure that the phrasing had a hidden meaning. He chose a less aggressive tactic to call him out on this. “There aren’t any extra-curricular activities off school grounds,” he said, eyeing the school gate as they drew closer.

“It’s not a school thing,” Ken told him, idly smoothing his fringe back into place. “You’ll see.”

If Riley was being honest with himself, and he usually was, his curiousity was piqued. So he carried on walking with Ken through the upper-class suburban sprawl that was the local neighbourhood. “I’ve signed up for after-school art on Wednesdays, and I’m going to try out for the track team,” he said brightly. “Do _you_ like to any kind of art or sports things?”

“The art kids are cool,” Ken mused aloud, elegantly side-stepping the question. “I get on pretty well with them and they like me. I don’t go near the sports field unless I have mandatory P.E.”

Riley decided it would be better if he didn’t accuse Ken of deflecting again. Besides, he was still being relatively open, just only in the way he felt comfortable with sharing, and that was good, right? “Is Steve on the track team?” he asked carefully, wary of another backlash.

“Football.”

“Ah.” Riley could hear the change in pitch in Ken’s voice, the quickness of it. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not so bad,” Ken shrugged. “Talking about it, I mean. I haven’t really been able to talk about it with anybody.”

Riley bit the inside of his lip. Keeping his thoughts to himself about other people’s parents was a lesson he’d had to go over with his father and mother several times over the years. The fragility of familial bonds in unstable homes made people extremely hostile towards outsider opinions, they’d said. Drastic measures such as intervention therapy could do more harm than good if they were attempted by amateurs without proper planning and a grounded network of support. So all Riley said was: “You can talk about it with me, if you like. Whenever you want, really. I like talking,” he grinned.

“I’ve noticed,” Ken chuckled.  
  
The pair came to a large, two-storey house that didn’t stand out much from its neighbours. The only remarkable thing about it was how unremarkable it was, really. If pressed on the matter, Riley would have supposed its front garden was a lot plainer than the others on the street: just a crisp, green lawn and a big apple tree. The season wasn’t right for it be bearing any fruit. Ken opened the side gate and went through.

“Is this your house?” Riley asked, following after him.

“No,” Ken said. “But I have a key.”

This ‘key’ that Ken spoke of evidently wasn’t for the front door. The boys went round the side of the house into an equally plain but neatly kept back garden (a lemon tree this time, not an apple one) and came to the kind of big, slanted basement doors that reminded Riley of the hurricane scene in _Wizard of Oz_. More curious than ever, he watched as Ken opened it up and beckon him down the stairs. “Come on,” he said.

There was an electric sort of hum coming from the basement and when Riley went down, he caught a glimpse of Ken entering the last few digits of an electronic code lock. Inside the basement, it wasn’t dank or scary like in the movies. It was positively wholesome, with bright, white lighting. Half the room had been remodeled into some kind of kitchenette, complete with an oven, sink and fridge. The other half was dominated by a huge sort of tent made out of clear plastic. Inside, three rows of four tubs were connected by plastic tubing, sprouting big, green bushes with pointed leaves.

“Is that… is that weed?” Riley asked incredulously. He’d seen illustrations in books about drug education, but he’d never seen it in real life before.

“Yeah,” Ken said, dropping his book back onto the floor next to a mattress in one corner of the room. Riley’s eyebrows flew up when he saw pillows and blankets that suggested someone had been sleeping there.

“Are you living here?” he asked, aghast. The rest of the words he wanted to say, he held back behind clenched teeth. Were things really that bad at home that Ken had to run away?!

“Nah,” Ken shook his head with a smirk pulling at his lips. “I just spend a lot of time here. Sometimes I nap when I’m waiting on someone to collect a delivery.”

“So someone just lets you use their house to grow this stuff for them?” Riley asked, looking around the room again with fresh eyes. It was difficult to believe. “How come they trust you to do it?”  
  
A beat passed between them and Ken started to smirk again.  
  
“... Don’t worry about it,” Riley answered the question for himself, huffing again.  
  
“Pretty much,” Ken grinned. “I’m good at what I do. I like plants. And my dad wouldn’t sign the permission slip for horticulture club because he didn’t see the business applications, so fuck him.”

“Well, I guess it’s good that you’ve found a fulfilling hobby, even if it is a little dangerous,” Riley reasoned, wandering over the floating kitchen counter where Ken was already busy unpacking some containers and metal trays. “I mean, have you considered what would happen if the police found out you were doing this? Is it really worth sticking it to your dad by doing something that could land you in jai--”  
  
The rest of his sentence was cut short by Ken turning around and sticking a chocolate chip cookie in his mouth. Riley could practically feel his pupils dilating at the sweetness of it. With a pleased little hum, he held it steady with his hand and bit down, letting the chocolate melt on his tongue before he chewed and swallowed. “I’m not supposed to have sugar,” he admitted guilty, “it makes me hyper.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Ken smirked as he set the oven. “The weed will balance it out.”  
  
Riley coughed, spitting out his second bite onto the counter. “I’m not meant to try drugs without a family discussion first!” he cried, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He tossed the cookie onto the counter, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans. “And I can’t get high on a school night!”

“Relax, you won’t get high off one bite,” Ken drawled. “It’s quarter strength, tops. I call them Detention Dimmers. The guy who owns this place lets me sell off the excess once I’ve met my quotas. I make a killing between classes.”

“Isn’t that a little…” Riley began.

“Business-y? Yeah,” Ken chuckled. “Funny, right? Dad would shit.”

“Illegal,” Riley finished, giving Ken a look.

“Yeah, well, so what?” Ken grumbled, unpacking more dough and slicing it up for another tray. “I don’t really have much respect for laws these days. Shit, people brag about breaking laws on TV all the time and what happens to them? Fucking nothing.”

“It just doesn’t seem worth the gamble,” Riley worried.

“Well, it is, to me,” Ken said stubbornly, arranging the discs of dough on the tray before he turned and slid them into the oven. “Look, you can go if you want, but I’ve gotta stick around for at least an hour. Thursdays and Fridays are some of my busiest days, and my stash is running low.”

Despite everything, Riley was reluctant to just up and run over this sort of thing. “I mean,” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked again. “I can stay, just don’t give me drugs again like that! I don’t like that!” he said with a frown.  
  
“... That’s fair,” Ken nodded his head. “I guess it was kinda shitty, but I thought it would be funny. Sorry.”  
  
“Thank you,” Riley sniffed, looking over to the sink. “Is the tap water okay to drink here?”  
  
“Sure, go nuts,” Ken nodded, arranging another tray. “I just don’t have any glasses.”  
  
Riley circled around the counter, running the water and observing the clear stream for a moment before he decided it was fine to drink. Bending over the sink, he took a few gulps; enough to get the taste of illicit cookie out of his mouth and get a clear head. Straightening up, he dabbed at the corner of his lips with the hem of his rainbow-striped shirt. He noticed Ken looking at him and he blinked back in confusion. “What?”  
  
“So we’ve got some time to kill,” Ken began, closing the door to the oven again. His eyes had been lingering on the pale patch of ribs exposed by Riley’s lifted shirt, but he looked up and held Riley’s gaze as he spoke, unabashed. “Wanna make out?”

“Huh?” Riley raised his eyebrows.

“If you want to, I mean,” Ken backpedaled slightly, raising his palms. “I just got that kind of vibe.”

“Well um, yeah, I like boys,” Riley admitted, feeling colour rise in his cheeks. “I just mean, it’s kind of sudden. I only just met you today.”  
  
“Sorry,” Ken shrugged. “I just don’t like, care about how long I’ve known people before I do stuff with them. As long as I like them, I’m pretty much good to go whenever.”  
  
“That’s… healthy,” Riley noted pleasantly. “Most people our age haven’t developed a full understanding of their own sexual interests.”  
  
“Have you not done it before?” Ken asked, jumping to conclusions.  
  
“Huh? Oh, no,” Riley gave a nervous laugh. “My first kiss was in fifth grade. I’ve kissed a lot of boys, actually. I don’t really mind how long I’ve known someone either. It’s just that uh, now that we’re older, it gets a little more complicated.” The fuzzy feel-good feeling of playing spin the bottle under the bleachers in middle school wasn’t all that happened, anymore. Making out meant more than kissing, now: it meant grinding bodies and sliding tongues and hard, throbbing cocks. Responsible decision-making skills went out the window under those kinds of conditions, and Riley didn’t want to get in over his head. “I just don’t want to get too carried away,” he said, blushing.  
  
A slow grin spread over Ken’s face. “You think I’m hot,” he accused him, sounding pretty smug about it.  
  
“Well, yeah…” One of Riley’s sneakers scuffed casually at the floor as he spoke. Ken had broad shoulders, thick eyebrows and cupid’s-bow lips. Riley’s eyes flicked over each of these features quickly before he glanced away again.

“So let’s make out,” Ken said keenly, unzipping his hoodie and draping it over the edge of the counter. Clad in his hunter-green shirt, he closed the distance between them in a few strides and suddenly they were standing really close to each other.

Riley bit his lip, reaching out to tug at one of Ken’s belt loops as he wrestled with his uncertainty. The discrete little tug made their bodies touch, hip to hip, and Riley didn’t pull away. He could feel the warmth of Ken’s breath fill the small space between them and he tugged Ken’s belt loops a little harder, tilting his head up to close the space between them. Just like that, they were kissing, and Riley hummed in appreciation as Ken’s broad hand splayed over the small of his back and pulled him closer. Reaching up, he ran his fingers through the back of Ken’s hair, faltering when the other boy pulled back a fraction.

“You taste good,” Ken said, voice husky.

“It’s lip balm,” Riley replied in a daze, rising up on his toes to nose into the taller boy’s hairline by his ear. Ken’s hair was really soft, and way cleaner than one would guess based on his whole outcast aesthetic. “You smell good,” he murmured.  
  
“Th-thanks,” Ken huffed, hand slipping lower to squeeze the curve of Riley’s ass. “Organic shampoo. It’s got coffee in it.”  
  
Riley hummed in reply, taking one last, long sniff before he came back around the boy’s cheek, searching for his lips again with heavy-lidded eyes. Fingertips lightly blocked his swollen bottom lip and the boy paused, looking up curiously.  
  
“Wait,” Ken said warmly, looking back to the mattress in the corner of the room. He took a step back towards it and Riley followed, his thigh pressing between Ken’s legs. “Come on,” Ken invited him. “It’s more comfortable.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Riley hesitated, hips squirming under the attentions of Ken’s hand.

“I won’t make you do anything,” Ken promised. “I just like, want to feel your weight on me or whateve--” He couldn’t finish, because Riley was already kissing him again. The boy’s thigh pressed further between his legs and he moaned in his throat, savouring a moment of pressure before he took the hint and started taking steps back towards the bed. It was slow progress on account of sucking face, but eventually the pair tumbled back onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, making the springs squeak under them. With a deep furrow in his brow, Ken’s other hand joined its twin, squeezing Riley’s ass and pulling his hips harder up against his groin. The boy’s hips rocked and ground up against him in a mimicry of the way their spit-slick tongues pulsed against each other, and Ken saw stars.

It wasn’t long before these actions had consequences, and Ken had to break for air. “Shit,” he swore, face flushed. There was a tight bulge in his jeans, running across his left hip. He squirmed on the mattress, grimacing as he tugged at his denim waistband. “This kinda hurts.”  
  
“I told you,” Riley panted, licking his lips quickly as he looked down at his own predicament tenting the front of his shorts. Whether it was because he wasn’t as well endowed as Ken or that his jeans weren’t as tight, he wasn’t exactly in pain. Still, he decided ‘to hell with it’ and slipped a hand down his pants to pull his stiff cock upright so it lay flat underneath his waistband. The tip stuck out past the button of his jeans, giving Ken a glimpse of the the shiny, pink head. Riley saw the boy’s chest rising and falling as he stared at it. His own chest was rising and falling too. He saw Ken’s fingernails, capped in chipped, black nail polish, scrabble uselessly at his too-tight waistband before he gave up and started wrestling with the button of his fly.  
  
“Ken,” Riley said breathlessly.  
  
“Please,” Ken begged on instinct, the pleading making his voice a whine. Riley realised the boy thought he was telling him not to.  
  
“N-no,” he shook his head at the misunderstanding. “That’s fine.” His heart skipped a beat as he watched the boy yank open his jeans like his life depended on it, breathing a deep sigh of relief as he squeezed the long lump under his boxer briefs, almost like an apology to his own dick. Riley swallowed, his fingertips tracing edge of his own fly button. “Ken,” he tried again. “Can I, um, can I watch you do it?”

Ken was slow to cotton on. “You’re already watching me,” he said, but Riley could see the way his hand slowed in caressing the length of his dick through his briefs, cautious.  
  
“No, I mean, like really touching yourself,” he clarified, feeling the heat in his cheeks. His heart was pounding with the thrill of the question, the potential rejection, but it still felt good to ask, to imagine what Ken’s face might look like as he got closer and closer to cumming.

“I don’t know.” Ken’s dark eyes slid away for a moment before darting back to Riley’s face, seeing the rapt interest in the boy’s expression. “It feels weird to just do it right in front of you.”

“Well, here, how about this?” Riley reasoned, crawling forward and taking one of Ken’s hands to pull him upright. Bending over make his hard-on press tighter against his waistband and he winced, but with a bit of grunting, he was able to get into a sitting position with his back against the wall, pulling Ken back so his his back was pressed up against Riley’s chest. One hand snaking around the boy’s chest, he splayed a palm over Ken’s sternum in a way that he hoped was comforting. If nothing else, it let him feel the steady rise and fall in time with Ken’s breathing.

“Uh,” Ken vocalised uncertainly. “I do… kinda like this. It’s… warm.”

Riley felt the boy’s weight lean back against his chest a little more, getting comfortable with his legs sprawled out before him. Peeking over Ken’s shoulder, Riley took the opportunity to nuzzle the back of his sweet-smelling hair. “Do you feel comfortable enough to take your dick out?” he cooed in the boy’s ear.

“Uh… uh-huh,” Ken nodded, wriggling in Riley’s lap as he negotiated the elastic of his underwear. His dick bobbed as it was set free, easily longer and thicker than Riley’s own endowment, not that he was particularly threatened by that. Not at all, in fact.

“W-wow,” Riley breathed. “You have a really nice dick.”

Ken moaned softly, curling his fingers around his cock and pumping quick but self-indulgent little strokes. “Can you… keep doing that?” he asked.

“Talking about your dick?” Riley asked, eyebrows raised. It was a little unexpected, but he was willing to indulge the boy if that’s what got him off.

“Nnn,” Ken shook his head a fraction, tilting his head to expose his ear to Riley’s soft lips as much as possible. “Just… just keep talking in my ear like that, I like it.”

“You like it when I talk into your ear?” Riley whispered, unable to keep the grin from spreading wide on his face. He pushed his nose up into Ken’s hair with new intent, lips so close that the brushed the shell of the boy’s ear when he spoke. “Does it get you all hot and bothered when you hear my voice like this?”

Ken groaned underneath him, his hand switching to long, slow pumps. “Fuck.”

Teasing Ken like this was fun. “You’re so sexy, Ken,” Riley told him, spying on him over his shoulder. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna remember this when I touch myself later. Is that okay? I wanna think of you when I cum.”

“F-fuck!” Ken swore louder, his voice taking on a new level of erotic urgency. Riley couldn’t see his face, but he could feel his chest spasm under his hand and he could see his dick, flushed and red, dripping shiny precum that spread over his hand and helped him go faster. Riley’s heart raced with the thrill of talking uninhibited.

“S-sometimes, when I play with myself,” he whispered, “I use both hands, and it feels _so_ good, I wanna scream, and it feels like if I keep going I’m just gonna shoot off again and again and again. One time, I came twice in a row, like just minutes apart, and it was _so_ hot. F- _fuck_ , Ken, you’re _so_ hot. Please cum for me. Please…”

Screwing his eyes shut, Ken let out a deep, hitching moan, planting one foot firmly on the ground so he could rock his hips up into the air, erect prick jutting out into the air as he continued to jerk himself off. “R-riley…” he mewled. “ _Riii-_ ley…”

“Please cum for me, baby.”

The taller boy’s breath hitched, his whole body spasming as his cock shot off thick spurts of cum all over his hunter-green shirt. Panting, Riley could only stare for a moment, counting one, two, three, four volleys before it subsided and a quivering neediness seemed to return to the boy’s muscles. Groaning quietly, he slumped back against the redhead’s chest, hand cringing away from his spent dick as though he suddenly couldn’t bear to touch it.  
  
“Wow,” Riley said, breathless.

“Fuck,” Ken cursed softly, looking down at the mess on his shirt. He should have taken it off first. “That was so intense…”

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Riley said, sincerely, going starry-eyed. “Can I kiss you again?”  
  
Grunting, Ken groped vaguely for the back of the boy’s head, turning sluggishly on his side so he could lean up and kiss him deeply, humming into the pleasant rhythm of Riley’s tongue against his.

“Are you okay?” Riley asked tenderly, carefully wiping tears away from the corners of Ken’s eyes. “I didn’t cross any boundaries, did I?”

“I wanna do it again,” Ken answered gravely. “Your turn this time. I just… I just need a minute.”

As if on cue, the oven timer chimed.

“Fuck!” Ken swore, pounding a fist on the mattress. “Fucking stoners…” Lifting himself up into a kneeling position, he peeled his cum-stained shirt over his head and tossed it into a corner. “Let me… let me get the next batch started, then I wanna… I wanna watch you do it, okay?”

“Okay!” Riley said keenly.


	2. Meeting Steve

The next day, at school, Riley was over the moon. He felt enthusiastic and fulfilled. Fresh from the best first day of school he could ever remember, he had a new action plan for his extra-curricular activities. Before classes started, he stopped in at the art room to respectfully withdraw his signup for after-school art classes. He told Ms Cobbler that he’d found another creative outlet on really short notice. She was happy for him but otherwise not too concerned about the loss; certainly not enough to inquire about what this substitute activity was, which was probably for the best. Riley was reasonably adept at talking about things without going into explicit details, but with enough exposure to the gushing, it wasn’t hard for the average student to put together some of the pieces. Especially when he was still swooning to anyone who would listen by the last class of the day, which was P.E.

“Dude,” a brown-haired boy named Todd rounded on him as they walked a cool-down lap around the field, “you _need_ to stop talking about Ken Tanner. You’re new here. If the wrong people hear you, you’re toast.”

“How did you know it was Ken Tanner?” Riley asked, taken aback.

“Please,” Todd scoffed. “I’m in the same class as you for English _and_ Home Ec, and now P.E. There’s only _one_ outcast you could have ‘forged such a meaningful connection’ with without anyone else having any idea who the fuck you’re talking about, and it’s him. There’s a social moratorium on him for a _reason_ , Riley.”

“I think I do know the reason,” Riley pouted, holding back the details. “And I’m not going to reject someone over something like that.”

“It’s not the weed,” Todd said gravely. “Shit, we all _love_ the weed. Before Ken’s cookies came on the scene, the only edibles we could get our hands on tasted like ass. Those cookies are the only reason people can still invite him to parties without getting their ass kicked.”

“Then what is it?” Riley worried. “Why is everyone so afraid of him?”

“Not him,” Todd shook his head, putting a hand on Riley’s shoulder as he fixed him with a serious glare. “Steve.”

“His step-brother?” Riley quirked his eyebrows. “What’s he got to do with it?”

“Just stop talking about him,” Todd told him, a pleading tone coming into his voice. “You’re a nice guy, I’d hate for anything bad to happen to you.” With that, he jogged on ahead.

Finishing the rest of the lap by himself, Riley wondered if he was sheltered. He’d never gone to a school in a low-income area, after all. He’d always assumed that the constructs of high schoolers in mass media, where one student had enough influence to organise something as complex and widespread as a ‘social moratorium’ against another student, were absurd. The stuff of fairy tales. Here, it seemed like an actualised reality, which was disturbing. Was it the weed, he wondered? He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to try it if it made him susceptible to herd mentality. 

He was still pondering this after they were dismissed and the class traipsed back into the sports block to hit the showers and go home. Riley barely even noticed before a strong hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him into a side room. Riley grunted in surprise as he was suddenly pinned up against a wall by a tanned boy with golden-brown hair. He was wearing a lettered varsity jacket with a bright red skivvy underneath, the high collar emphasising the squareness of his jaw. It was apparent that red was one of the football team’s colours, since the walls of the locker room were slathered in similarly coloured motivational posters and ‘GO BULLS’ flags.

“You need to stay the fuck away from Ken Tanner,” the boy told him with a grimace.

“I’ve already _had_ this talk,” Riley snapped, naturally irate from the man-handling. “I think it’s really stupid that everyone is upholding this ‘moratorium’ on him.”

“No, you need to stay away from him because he’s a _fucking_ psychopath,” the brunette continued.

“I don’t think you know what that word means,” Riley frowned. “The incidence of textbook psychopathy in the general population is essentially one percent.”

The boy responded to this information by using his hold on Riley’s shoulder to pull him away from the wall a fraction and push him back again, hard enough to make his head knock against the bricks. “I know what I’m talking about,” he snarled.

“Ow!” Riley complained, reaching up to rub the back of his head. “What is wrong with you!?” It wasn’t good phrasing but really, shoving? Was the boy raised by bears? “Hitting me isn’t going to make me listen to you!”

“So then shut the fuck up and listen, idiot,” the boy leaned in close with wide, crazed eyes. “I heard you hung out with him after school. The next thing you know, he’s in your house, and he’s got his fucking _hooks_ in your life. He’s like a disease. He’s fucking virus.”

Riley narrowed his eyes, putting together the pieces. “You’ve got a fear of cohabitation with Ken,” he surmised with a wrinkled nose. “You must be Steve.”

The boy didn’t deny being Steve, so he probably was. “I am _not._ Afraid of him,” he growled.

“Calm people don’t act like this,” Riley said frankly, looking the boy up and down. “You’ve been shaking me like I’m a rag doll.”

Steve took a sharp breath in through his nose and for a moment it looked like he wanted to hit the boy. Pushing away from him with a huff, he started pacing back and forth in the locker room. So he had rudimentary anger management tools, at least. That gave the situation some glimmer of hope. “Why do you hate Ken so much?” he asked.

“He’s _everywhere!_ ” Steve tugged at his curly hair with a growl, still pacing. He was very animated, making hand gestures as he spoke. “All the time, no matter what I do, it’s just Ken, Ken, Ken!”   
  
“Do you really see him that often?” Riley asked, trying not to sound too doubtful. “When I met him, he told me he doesn’t even go near the sports field unless he has to."

“We share the _same room_ ,” Steve turned and fixed the redhead with a murderous glare. “It doesn’t _matter_ what he does at school, there’s no escape from him! All because _Sha-ron_ ,” he said the name in a condescending sing-song, “the bitch who gave birth to him, decided she _had_ to have her own home office, and dad won’t buy a bigger house because the real estate market’s in the shitter.”

Once again, Riley found himself keeping his thoughts about other people’s parents under tight wraps. He could practically feel the outburst of words jumping up and down like barking dogs behind his tight lips. Swallowing, he picked his words very carefully. “I can see why that would be very stressful for you, especially at this age,” he said.

“It’s fucking _humiliating_ , is what it is,” Steve ranted. “I can’t even jack off in my own bed because he’s ten feet away. And he touches my stuff, I swear that sometimes, he moves it just an inch to drive me crazy. He even uses my fucking shampoo!”

“The coffee one?” Riley blinked.

He shouldn’t have said it. Steve stopped pacing, rounding back on Riley with a frown as he closed the distance between them with big, long strides. “Smell my hair,” he demanded, all but headbutting the boy in the face. “Smell it!”

Riley was a little flustered, but he complied, leaning forward and giving the boy’s crop of hair a sniff. The sweet, coffee scent was unmistakable. “That’s the one,” he admitted reluctantly, bracing himself for an outburst.

“That’s fucking Ken!” Steve exclaimed with manic sarcasm, stepping back and clapping his hands as though he were presenting to a studio audience. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!”

“Yeah, well,” Riley balled his fists, ready to take a stand. “I don’t think stealing shampoo justifies giving someone a black eye! I saw the bruise you gave him!”

“Oh, you think that was about the shampoo, do you?” Steve grimaced a little too wide, his lips flinching into a distorted grin. “Guess again, dumbass." 

Suddenly, Steve started unbuttoning his varsity jacket. It was so unexpected that for once, Riley didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth to ask what the boy was doing when the brunette also peeled off the crimson skivvy underneath his jacket, and Riley’s blood ran cold.

There was a reason that Steve was wearing a shirt with such a high collar: his neck was still littered with dark bruises around his throat. Riley gasped at the sight, instantly recognising them as choke marks. They didn’t look like hand prints; they weren’t meant to. The contusions only occurred where the most pressure was applied, at the fingertips or the heel of the thumb. Riley knew, because he’d snuck a peek at one of his parents’ textbooks on domestic abuse and seen an example in a photograph. He may have been intelligent enough to read and understand the words, but he hadn’t been old enough to see such material at the time, and the evening had been spent bawling on the living room sofa while his parents talked him through it. The traumatic exposure was long since addressed, but still, the image stuck with him. It was terrible. And Ken had done this?

“But…” he whimpered. He was resisting, he knew. Denial. It was distressing just to think about Ken’s pale hands wrapping around Steve’s throat with enough force and malice to really hurt him like that. It was much slower than a punch to the face; much more premeditated. It was even worse to think about when he recalled Ken’s hand at his own throat last night in the basement, after the second batch of Detention Dimmers were in the oven. 

After what had happened to Ken’s shirt, Riley had had the foresight to take his off before he leaned back against Ken’s chest, relishing in the warmth of skin-to-skin contact. It had been so nice, having him close and feeling his breath tickle the shell of his ear, that he hadn’t even started playing with himself for a while. Sharing the quiet moment together, Ken’s fingers had traced his collar bone and up the slope of his neck, stroking the soft skin with the pad of his thumb until it came to a halt about an inch beneath his jaw.

_I can feel your heartbeat_ , Ken had said. It had been such a sensual and intimate thing, and now it was retrospectively tainted by a scary, unfamiliar context.

“But… how?” Riley’s voice broke with the question, eyes desperately searching Steve’s face for some kind of answer. How had Ken even gotten close enough to choke him so badly? The step-brothers were similar sizes, but now that Riley had seen both of them shirtless, it was a clear call on who was stronger. Steve was absolutely _ripped_ , with shapely arms and a well-cut six pack leading up to his broad chest. With his lean muscle, and Riley’s limited knowledge of football, he would have guessed that the boy played an offensive position, and he’d have been right. Steve was the star Tackle on the high school varsity team. Ken had a lean, gardening muscle to him, but little more.

“Because we sleep. In the same. Room,” Steve ground out the words in a low tone. “Now do you believe me that he’s _fucking_ unhinged?”

Riley felt overwhelmed. The back of his sneaker knocked against the locker room wall as he tried to back away, but there way nowhere to go. “I… I need to have a discussion with Ken about this,” he stammered, turning to leave. Steve caught his wrist.

“Don’t,” the jock said sharply, “If you call him out on it, you could be next.”

“He wouldn’t!” Riley cried, snatching his hand back.

“You sure about that?” Steve scoffed.

“Yes,” the boy replied earnestly. “Ken wouldn’t hurt me. We…” Riley’s heart skipped a beat and he cut himself off, feeling colour rise in his cheeks. He’d gotten too accustomed to speaking about his sexuality without fear of backlash. In that moment, in a locker room plastered with football banners and a very strong jock who hated Ken’s guts, it occurred to Riley that now wasn’t the best time to recount the very gay things that had happened in the basement.

“You what?” Steve asked in a low tone, jutting out his chin.

“We… we’re friends,” Riley faltered, already knowing how weak his deflection sounded. He startled when the boy grabbed his shoulders. He leaned close, but he didn’t shove him back against the wall this time. That didn’t make it any less scary, though, because when Steve next spoke, it was the misleadingly chirpy sort of whisper that barely restrained the boy’s anger.

“What the _fuck_ did you do with my step-brother?” Steve grimaced.

“Um,” Riley’s voice rose an octave, glancing towards the door again. Steve’s grip tightened on him as soon as he did. “We might have… made out…” he admitted with a wince.

Steve inhaled through his nose, as if he could smell the ghosts of homosexual acts on Riley’s freckled face. “Oh, that’s rich,” he hissed. “That prick’s been calling me a fag ever since he walked in on me rubbing one out _one time_ and here it turns out he’s been sucking face with the same side. That _fucking_ little hypocrite...” 

Riley squirmed; Steve’s grip had become so tight that it hurt. “I think you might be sexually frustrated!” he blurted, hoping to diffuse the boy’s growing rage by catching him off guard.

It worked, if only a little. Steve spluttered, making a sound almost like a laugh. He did loosen his grip on Riley’s shoulders, but naturally he had follow-up questions. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry, but it’s true,” Riley said with a furrow in his brow, holding his ground. “I can’t claim to be an expert, but that’s the way I see it. Living with Ken is stifling your sexual expression, so you’re still angry even though you have so many… outlets.” Riley took another look round the room, somewhat uncomfortable at how aggressive some of the Bulls slogans were. One of the posters involved a cartoon depiction of goring, the bull’s horns skewering a rooster that Riley could only assume represented a rival team.

“Alright, Dr. Phil,” Steve sneered, clearly still defensive. “So what am I supposed to do about that when the asshole shares the same room as me? This is California: Sharon’s got the shower on a timer to save water. Am I meant to go jerk off in the woods like some kind of freak?”

“That seems a bit dramatic,” Riley began awkwardly, clenching his jaw. Licking his lips, he thought about the best way to go about this. “Why don’t you just try talking to more girls? All that stuff about them not being as interested in sex as boys just isn’t true. And you’re a footballer! A good impression should be a piece of cake.”

“So that’s all I need to do, is it?” Steve said, his expression notably deadpan. Perhaps it was a processing mechanism? “Talk to a bunch of girls until one of them spreads their legs?”  


“Well, I wouldn’t put it like _that…_ ” Riley shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But--”   


“You’re clueless,” Steve cut across him. “I hate girls. They’re fucking annoying.”

“Oh,” Riley said, the wheels turning in his head. His eyebrows raised when it clicked. “Oh!”  


“There a problem?” Steve glowered.

“No, no; not at all. I mean, you were just so angry about Ken calling you a fag, I just assumed…” Riley blushed. It was a stupid assumption, he knew. He should have known better.

“You like being called a fag then, huh?” Steve wrinkled his nose.

“That’s a good point.” Riley gave a melancholy smile. “Well… it’s the same principal. It might be a little more scary, but if you just talk to some boys I’m sure you could find someone.”

“I’m talking to someone right now,” Steve said.

“Huh?” Riley blinked.

“You heard me.”

“W-well, since I’ve already been with Ken, I just assumed that you would--” Riley babbled.

“This is why nerds are annoying,” Steve told him with a frown. “You’re always assuming shit.”

“Well, I’m not going to have sex with you,” Riley said, affronted. He wasn’t going to have sex with _anyone_ . Not yet, at least. “I’m not ready for that yet.” He spit out the words in a hurry, pouting.   


“Fuck sex,” Steve scoffed, the irony of what he’d said apparently lost on him. “You have to have, like, condoms and do an enema and stuff. That’s what people say.”  


It was true; Riley had heard the same rumours. He looked down in dismay. Could fooling around with Steve really help the whole situation with him and his step-brother? He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d be getting someone out of it too, but still… After another moment of consideration, he looked back at Steve and shrugged with a compromise. “We can make out a little, if you want?”

“I don’t like kissing,” Steve said bluntly.

That was a new one, and a confusing one, to boot. “Then what do--” Riley startled, unable to finish. The standard gym uniform was a white t-shirt with ‘McKINLEY HIGH’ stamped on the back, and a simple pair of red running shorts. Steve had just yanked up one of the legs of said shorts to expose the pair of supermarket multi-pack tighty-whities that Riley wore for P.E. He changed back into his considerably more stylish boxer briefs after he’d finished getting all sweaty. 

“Let me suck your dick,” Steve put the gruff request to the boy’s ear, closing the space between them.

Riley shivered, the heat of Steve’s breath tickling his ear. “Um,” he said quietly. When had his mouth gotten so dry? He took a deep breath and swallowed, finding his voice again. “I haven’t really, uh, done that before…”

“You don’t have to _do_ anything,” Steve scoffed, cupping a hand between Riley’s legs. “Come on, just let me. I’ve done it before.”

Riley let out a little hum, squirming back against the wall. Steve really was… unusual, to say the least. But he’d already learned about making assumptions about people, hadn’t he? And the offer was tempting. Like really, really tempting. He was definitely interested in learning what a blowjob felt like, and who knew when the offer would come around again? To make even more assumptions, it would probably be someone asking to have _their_ dick sucked the next time he was asked about anything like that. Not to mention that his dick was already twitching with interest under the attentions of Steve’s hand. “O-okay,” he said, nodding.

“Sick,” Steve grinned, pulling the boy away from the wall. “Come on.” Riley stumbled forward a few steps before Steve caught him and guided him to one of the benches in the centre of the locker room. He sat the boy down at the end of the bench so he was straddling the wide, metal slat and then popped a squat in front of him, pulling the boy’s shirt up so the cotton was bunched up under his armpits. Reaching up to hold the redhead by his hips, he dipped his head forward and planted a sloppy kiss on the boy’s navel.

Riley barely suppressed the urge to squeal, the sound coming out as a yip followed by jittery laughter. “Th-that tickles!” he cried, squirming violently under Steve’s touch. His freckle-smattered thighs parted wide to compensate for the sudden arch of his spine. 

Steve smirked as he pulled back and moved a hand to slide up the leg of his shorts. “How big are you?” he asked, squeezing Riley’s bulge through his briefs. 

“Oh, I don’t know, exactly,” Riley answered honestly, though he was a little distracted. Steve’s hand felt really nice. “I never really felt the need to measure.”

“Hmm,” the taller boy hummed, withdrawing his hand to tug at the elastic from the top, this time. Leaning back on the bench, Riley lifted his hips and let Steve pull down his shorts and underwear enough to expose himself, the waistband pushing up under his balls and slowly swelling cock. 

“Big enough,” Steve grinned with a hungry gleam in his eye, his breath hot against the boy’s pale skin. “Stand up for a second, I want these out of the way,” he ushered the boy up, motioning to his red shorts.

Riley complied, looking down with wide eyes as Steve slid his shorts down his lean legs, his briefs soon to follow. This was really happening! He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

“Sit back down,” Steve croaked, “otherwise you’ll fall.”  


Fall?! Just how good was a blowjob, exactly? Steve seemed intent on answering without ever having heard the question aloud, for Riley’s ass had barely grazed the locker room bench before he engulfed the boy’s half-hard prick with his mouth.

Riley’s breath hitched with the sensation. It was hot, somehow way warmer than what he’d imagined body temperature to be, and wet in the best, most inviting way possible. “Oh, wow.” When Steve’s cheeks hollowed out and he started sucking, the squeeze of his tongue and his soft, slick skin might as well have been velvet. Riley’s cock didn’t stay half-hard for long.

“W-wow!” he wailed, voice breaking into a moan. His head jittered in the same rhythm that Steve used to bob up and down on the first half of Riley’s cock, his tongue pressing perfectly up against the sweet spot just below the tip. 

His heart racing, Riley bit the tip of his thumb in an effort to stifle his mewling. Could anyone hear them from out in the hall? The bell rang a while ago - surely most people would have gone home by now. “Is… could anyone come in?” he asked in a stage whisper.

Steve answered by pushing forward, taking Riley’s dick right down to the base with a self-satisfied hum. He moved much more slowly, much more indulgently after than, and Riley had absolutely zero complaints. The feeling of Steve’s hot throat swallowing around his cock had his eyelids flickering. 

Gasping and in a daze, Riley’s finger’s danced nervously in the air for a moment before he reached out and grabbed a handful of Steve’s wavy, brown hair. The muscular boy moaned around his cock, encouraging him with a series of quick, little nods. Yes. Yes? Yes. Riley’s other hand joined its partner in Steve’s hair, tugging him closer as he bucked his hips forward as much as gravity and the bench would allow. 

Steve responded to this with a loud, guttoral moan, his nose pressing up against the boy’s pale stomach as though he could take his cock even deeper. His throat tightened around his prick and Riley whimpered, clinging to the head of brown curls as he rode out the pangs of pleasure that Steve was sucking out of him. It was good: incredibly, maddeningly so, and he felt like he could melt right into the bench there, mindlessly fucking Steve Tanner’s face. It was almost like his throat was squeezing his cock in a rhythm, too. Between his knees, the jock’s back spasmed.

Wait.

The spasms didn’t stop. 

Was he… was Steve _choking_?!

“O-oh my gosh!” Riley spluttered as he snapped back to reality, snatching his hands away from the boy’s head as though it were a hot iron. “Are you okay?!”

He’d expected the boy to pull back from his prick with a dramatic gasp like a drowning victim coming up for air. Of all the things he could have imagined, he never would have guessed the boy would force himself back down on the length of his shaft with a grunt of complaint. One of Steve’s hands groped for Riley’s, catching his wrist and tugging his hand back to his head.

“S-steve!” Riley cried, shocked. He did grab the boy’s hair again, but only to pull him off his cock himself, and even that took some effort. With spit-slick lips and bared teeth, Steve squinted up at the boy as he breathed in steady, shallow pants. It took him a moment to be ready to speak, but when he did, his voice was raw and low.

“Don’t stop.”

“But--”

“Shut up,” Steve growled, “I know what I’m doing.”

Riley was finally able to stop focusing on Steve’s face to notice the slow, steady rock of his body where he was hunched over on his knees. Following the movement, he looked down as saw the boy’s wrist disappearing down the front of his track pants. Track pants with a large, visible wet spot blooming near his upper thigh. He gasped as he realised he’d encountered his first fetishist. Those kinds of psychological textbooks, too, had been off-limits for someone his age, but Riley’s curiousity knew no bounds. Surprisingly, the passages about paraphilias had been considerably less traumatic that the ones on domestic abuse. Perhaps it was the lack of illustrations. He didn’t need any illustrations now; Steve was right here in front of him, and the heady, oxygen-starved arousal was plain on his face. Even now, he could see how the boy only let himself breathe in steady, tiny breaths. He swayed slightly where he knelt, but there was enough cognition in his blue eyes to show determination.

“You… you really like this?” Riley asked, needing to be sure.

“Just hold my head and fucking _keep_ it there, okay?” the boy hissed, still stroking himself off with the same, slow rhythm. 

“You’re _sure_?” he implored.

Steve let out a grunt of frustration and deep-throated Riley’s cock again. 

“W-wait, what if-- _uuhh!_ ” Riley’s lips trembled but once Steve got back to work, he broke out into a moan. This was reckless. Illicit. He knew it was. Steve could pass out, or worse. Yet as he sat there, mewling as Steve’s plump lips nursed his cock with renewed vigour, he couldn’t help it. He seized the boy’s head again, plunging his fingers into the brown curls and tightening his grip. He pulled him forward as far as he could come, watching his cock disappear into the breathless boy’s throat. 

His own eyes barely open to slits, Riley could just about make out Steve’s eyes watering, but the jock brow furrowed and he hummed loudly in appreciation, yanking his cock out of the top of his sweatpants so he could jerk himself off in long, hard strokes. He really did get off on this! And Steve was sucking him off like a machine, Riley could already feel himself getting close. He consoled himself that the faster he came, the less time Steve would have to choke himself, so he started moving his hips again, using his hold on Steve’s hair to take control of the pace.

Steve hummed loudly around Riley’s dick and the vibrations made the redhead moan in turn. Panting, he screwed his eyes shut and sped up, hips frantically chasing the deep pangs building up inside him until he let out a scream and buckled over around Steve’s head, holding him tight as he shot his load straight down the boy’s convulsing throat. Riley didn’t think he’d ever cum harder in his life; it felt like the axis of the Earth had shifted and everything felt all floaty as he slowly opened his eyes. Still panting, he eased the jock back off his cock, watching, mouth agape, as a string of saliva briefly connected the tip of his dick and Steve’s plump bottom lip before it finally broke. 

Euphoria: that was what he saw in Steve’s bloodshot, blue eyes. Riley felt all floaty but Steve looked positively _high_ as he gave a dopey smile and collapsed back onto the tiles, rolling onto his side. He must have shot his load under the bench, because his dick was still twitching gently in his hand as he lay there. Riley felt a wave of relief as he watched the brunette’s chest swell with a big, healthy breath. At least he was breathing properly again.   


“Fucking… awesome…” Steve gasped, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he still gently played with his over-sensitive prick. 

Dumbstruck, Riley stared at him for a long time, trying to calm down. He felt shaken, to say the least. It had been so good, but so violent, too… he… he needed to talk this through!

  
“I-I don’t know how I feel about what we just did!” Riley cried, hastily wriggling back into his briefs.

“What?” Steve slowly wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, staring up at Riley from where he lay on the floor. “That’s stupid... how can you not know how you feel? You either liked it or you didn’t.” 

“That’s not what I mean!” Riley shook his head.

“Well, you came, didn’t you?” The jock grumbled. He was getting defensive again, Riley could tell. It wasn’t helping the situation one bit. “I can practically taste it on my lungs,” Steve said. He gave a chuckle that turned into a cough, as if to prove his point.

“It was just so… so…” Riley searched for the word. So _violent_. The word loomed over him like a cloud. But if he phrased it like that, after what Steve had been through… no way. The boy wouldn’t take it well at all. 

“Intense?” Steve suggested with another wheezing chuckle. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, stowing his dick back in his sweat pants. “Yeah,” he agreed with a shit-eating grin.

Intense. Sure. Riley could work with that language. “Yes,” he agreed, pressing his lips together. “But it was kind of scary for me, too. I mean, if I knew you liked choking so much, I don’t think I would have let you suck my dick.”

“I don’t ‘like choking’,” Steve glowered, making air quotes. “It’s not _about_ that part. You wouldn’t understand without trying it.”

“I don’t want to try it,” Riley said quickly, tensing up.

“Then shut up,” Steve countered gruffly.

“I just don’t think you’re being upfront about your desires!” Riley argued.

“Well, _I_ don’t think you know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about,” Steve snapped. “And if you go around running your mouth about me liking choking, you’ll be sorry.”

“I wouldn’t… t-that’s private!” Riley faltered, uncomfortable with the notion that he’d kiss and tell like that. Well… he would tell, but only abstractly! He’d never include the kind of intimate details that could out someone in any way, whether that was being gay or, or… having some kind of hypoxia addiction. It made him more and more uncomfortable the more he thought about it. Just what would Steve have tried by himself, unsupervised, if Ken wasn’t sharing a room with him?

“Have you… have you tried doing it by yourself?” Riley asked gingerly.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” Steve huffed, getting to his feet. He walked a little off-kilter but he was still able to get to the spot where his skivvy lay puddled on the floor and pulled it roughly over his head. “Just fuck off if you don’t want to do it again.”

Denial. “Steve, wait--” he began, but it was already too late. The boy had picked up his varsity jacket and stormed out the door. Riley watched, crestfallen, as the door swung shut behind him. He should have lead by explaining that he wasn’t trying to shame him for his tastes, but his own feelings on the matter had to be taken into account, too. Hindsight was 20/20, wasn’t it? With a heavy sigh, he picked his shorts up off the floor and pulled them up his legs. He still had to talk to Ken, too. Well, there was no use procrastinating: procrastination was just a form of emotional avoidance. He slipped out of the varsity locker room and went to the general locker room to get his phone. Thankfully, the place was deserted by now, so there wouldn’t be any eavesdroppers.

“ _Riley?_ ”

“Hi, Ken,” Riley said, unable to keep the tone of melancholy out of his voice. “I need to talk to you. In person, preferably.”

“ _Right now? I’m still dealing. I’ve made like two hundred bucks already_.”

Riley recalled the boy telling him that he did most of his Thursday trade around the back of the science block. On Fridays, he moved shop to the edge of the memorial garden that shared a dividing wall with the school grounds, because that was where the art kids liked to hang out. “Please?” he asked. “I’m just at the sports block.”

“ _I don’t like to go there_ ,” Ken said quickly, sounding apprehensive. After another moment: “ _Wait, what are you still doing there? The bell rang ages ago._ ”

“It’s a long story. Can you please just come? Or I can come meet you after, I just… I just want to take a shower first,” Riley grimaced, already slinging his towel over his shoulder as he spoke into the phone.

“. _.. I’ll be there in five._ ”

It hadn’t been the easiest conversation. The shower spray created a useful barrier between them when Riley told Ken that things had gotten physical with Steve - even more so when he went into the details of just what _type_ of physical. He left out the uncomfortable aspects of Steve’s fetish, but he at least had to confess to the blowjob. Given that they’d shared their own intimacy, he just couldn’t keep something like that a secret. Ken practically pulled his own hair out, and Riley glanced over his shoulder in disdain as he watched the boy adopt the same back-and-forth pacing that Steve had done earlier.

“ _Why_ would you _do_ that?!” The boy cried incredulously. “Are you crazy?!”

“I don’t like that word,” Riley answered, keeping emotion out of his voice as he lathered shampoo into his hair.

“He’s such a manipulative bastard,” Ken growled, still pacing. “I bet he heard about what he did and made a move on you just to cross me.”

“He didn’t know anything about that until I told him,” Riley said before he tilted his head back to rinse out his hair. Once he was sufficiently clean, he shut off the water and grabbed his towel, walking towards Ken as he dried off his hair first. Nudity had never bothered him in the least. Despite his apparent predisposition to getting into trouble, Riley could demonstrate impressive maturity at times. That was what his last report card said, at least. "But he _did_ show me the bruises you gave him."

Ken stopped, looking back Riley with wide, perturbed eyes. “...Shit,” he swore, wincing as he looked away. “I knew he’d snitch.”

“It was _horrible_ , Ken,” Riley scolded him. “Why did you do that? And while he was sleeping?! I feel safe with you, but hearing about what you did made me scared!”

“It wasn’t like that!” Ken urged him, but he was already gritting his teeth with self-aware guilt. “Look,” he began again. Riley waited patiently as the boy talked it though. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not sorry either, okay?! You don’t know what he’s like! I’m sure he was laying it on real thick about how it’s so bad living with me, but ever since I choked him out, it’s the first time I haven’t had any bruises in _months_. You’ve seen him Riley, the guy’s a monster! He’s got a weight bench on his side of our room. What else am I supposed to do against a guy like that?!”

“You shouldn’t be sharing a room!” Riley fumed, barely able to keep his temper any more. “It’s ridiculous! Why haven’t your parents gotten involved?!”

Ken let out a resentful laugh. “Bob and Sharon? No chance. They don’t give a shit as long as the neighbours don’t talk. And with what I do, I certainly don’t want to go running to the cops or CPS.”

“There has to be something we can do to fix this,” Riley said, wringing his towel in his hands. It all felt so hopeless. “I just don’t know what to do any more!”

“Hey, hey.” Ken said, walking closer and pulling the boy into a hug. Riley let him do it, pouting with self-pity as he peeked out from Ken’s shoulder. “It’s not your job to fix everything, Riley. You’re not a psychologist yet, you’re just a kid, like me. Just chill out.”

Riley sniffed, pressing his cheek against Ken’s shoulder. “I just don’t want you to escalate things any more!” he whined. “Especially not like that! No choking!”

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” Ken grumbled.

“Ken!” Riley said more firmly, pulling back to look the boy in the eyes. “I mean it! _No choking!_ ”

“Fine,” Ken said. “No choking.”


	3. The Principal’s Office

The next morning, Riley made it twelve feet down the corridor before Steve came out of nowhere and called him a fucking snitch. Riley just managed to make out a fresh shiner on Steve’s right eye before the star Tackle’s fist obscured his vision and they both dropped to the ground.

Within the hour, all three boys were in the hallway outside the principal's office, each with a black eye of their own. There were three chairs on either side of the hallway. Steve had been told to sit in one and Ken and Riley had been told to sit on either of the row along the opposite wall. Principal Chang, an elderly Asian woman with a deceptively young face that was only betrayed by her stern eyes, had told them in no uncertain terms that whatever their punishment was, it would be doubled if they left their assigned seats. Riley didn't mind so much; the seating arrangement allowed him to hold Ken's hand.

"Fag," Steve muttered across the hallway from where he sat, hunched over. Riley had kneed him in the ribs during the scuffle.

"Suck a dick, Steve," Ken shot back gamely with a goading smirk. "Oh, wait. You already did." 

  
“Stop it, both of you!” Riley snapped under his breath, worrying that the Principal might hear them. Both boys scowled, but Riley felt a little more encouraged when Ken squeezed his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten in trouble enough to warrant his parents being called in to the school. He’d had a smattering of detentions over the years, usually for back-chatting the wrong teacher, but now that he thought about it, the last time his parents had been called in may very well have been in pre-school, when he’d gotten a bead stuck up his nose during arts and crafts. 

Dr. Meadows, affectionately known as Dr. Donna to most people who worked with her, was the first to arrive on the scene. She was clearly the source of Riley’s hazel eyes and freckles, although her long hair, held back in a braid, was darker - possibly dyed from a bottle. The university had a smart casual dress code, which allowed her to wear dark jeans and several colourful, chunky bead necklaces over the top of her white blouse.

“Riley!” she called as he approached, stooping to take her son’s face into her hands to inspect the bruise. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m a little disappointed in myself,” Riley said earnestly, shoes scuffing at the floor. “Things got out of hand.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Donna cooed, kissing the boy’s forehead before releasing him. “One incident doesn’t indicate your worth. There’s always an opportunity to do better. And you boys,” she tutted, looking between the Tanner brothers. “This is very uncharacteristic of you.”

“No it isn’t,” Steve wrinkled his nose, looking at the woman as if she’d grown a second head.

“Perhaps not you, Steven,” Donna surmised dryly, “but you, Ken. Riley’s told me a lot about you, and I’m surprised you’d escalate things like this.”

Ken’s face turned red as he shot Riley a look. “Just how much did you tell her?!” he asked urgently in a whisper. 

“Not that much!” Riley defended himself, feeling his cheeks darken as though Ken’s blush was contagious.

“Never mind all that now,” Donna tutted, reaching out to fuss over her son’s hair. “I’m just glad you’re safe. I was so worried when they called.”

Not all of the arrivals were this peaceful. Just minutes later, the Tanners appeared on the scene.

Riley already knew who each of the step-brothers’ biological parents were, but if didn’t, seeing them in person would have answered the question without a doubt. While Sharon didn’t have a goth streak, she did have hair dyed a vibrant, candy-apple red, and the same eyes and bone structure that showed in her son’s face. She seemed quite a loud dresser, sporting a pair of bright fuschia stretch capris and a tight, tiger-stripe top with a deep boat neck. A bossy jangle of gold bracelets accompanied the click of her red high heels as she stormed down the hall with her husband hot on her trail.

Mr. Brad Tanner was the spitting image of Steve, almost as if the footballer had been fast-forwarded a few decades and dressed in a navy suit without a tie. However, the man’s dark brown hair was clipped too short to allow it to curl. Already wearing a scowl, his face reddened when he saw the state of his sons sitting outside the principal’s office. Riley wondered if the boys had hidden their black eyes when they left for school in the morning.

“Steve!” he bellowed. “What the _hell_ have you done now?!”

“Kennedy!” Sharon snapped, leaning down to grab her son roughly by the shoulders. “What have I told you about fighting during school hours?!”

Riley ducked his head to stifle his surprise. ‘Ken’ wasn’t short for Kenneth?! Was he named after the late president?

“I didn’t do anything!” Steve lied angrily.

“Yeah!” Ken chimed in, “this is bullshit!”

“Maybe we should just wait until we hear what Mrs. Chang has to say about all this,” Donna suggested, raising her voice a fraction.

“And who are you?” Sharon rounded on her.

“Donna Meadows,” the woman introduced herself with a furrow in her brow.

Sharon clicked her tongue, looking her up and down. “Single mother, are you?”

“No,” Donna informed her dryly. “My husband has a longer drive from the university.”

Dr. Michael Worthington, Riley’s father, was the last to show up. “Sorry I’m late,” he announced, the blazer of his pale grey, three-piece suit still slung over his arm as he jogged down the hall. “I had to reschedule some appointments. Are you okay, sport?” he asked, leaning down to ruffle his son’s hair. “That’s quite a shiner.”

“Yes,” Riley answered piously, “Principal Chang is pretty angry, though.”

“Well, that’s understandable. She has a duty of care,” Michael shrugged.

“A-whuh-ah-- a duty of care?!” Brad sputtered. “It’s an outrage this happened! We pay through the nose for tuition, and we get called in every other week!”

“This seems like it will be pretty straightforward to resolve,” Michael said evenly. “We just need to figure out why our boys were fighting.”

“Nno-no-no-no-no-no-no-no,” Sharon interrupted the man with a rapid pitter-patter of interjections, raising a manicured hand. “Our boys get rough with each _other_. They know not to get other boys mixed up in their mess.”

Michael and Donna exchanged disturbed looks.

“Yeah, why the hell would they be fighting with this kid, anyway?” Brad looked Riley up and down with a frown, noting the smiley face on the boy’s T-shirt. “He looks like he should be in the glee club, not anywhere near the football field or… hrrmh,” the man trailed off, glancing Ken’s way. Ken rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Riley piped up, looking guilty. “I didn’t know they fought so badly. I think I made it worse when I got involved.”

“Got involved?” Michael parroted with a look of concern.

“ _Riley_ ,” Donna began in a lecturing tone. “Have you been attempting to provide therapy to your classmates again?”

“No,” Riley answered piously. “I mean that we made out.”

“What!” Sharon cried.

“And just who was this with?!” Mr. Tanner glowered.

“Um,” Riley’s face flushed. “Both of them? N-not at once, though!”

Both Ken and Steve looked at Riley with expressions of open-mouthed betrayal.

“ _Both_ my sons?!” Sharon complained, rounding on the Meadows-Worthingtons. “Who is this little hussy?!”

Riley’s father clicked his tongue in distaste, but it was Donna who spoke up. “Wow, feminising language? That’s really how you want to address your son’s sexuality?” she grimaced.

“Oh don’t give me that, you bitch!” Sharon scoffed, hands on her hips. “I bought my son a gahd-damn fleshjack to get him away from that _damn_ pornography, what have _you_ done for gay rights lately?”

“ _Mom!_ ” Steve yelled. Ken cackled.

“ _Sharon_ ,” Brad hissed. “Not outside the house!”

“Oh boy,” Donna exhaled.

“Now just what is _that_ supposed to mean?” Michael raised his voice, looking at the other father with a perturbed expression.

It was chaos. Riley hadn’t seen this many adults yelling since he’d been allowed to observe a case study on primal scream therapy through a two-way mirror at a university. It was impressive how easily they all sunk to a similar level in such a heated environment. Even after Principal Chang herded the lot of them into her office, the yelling continued.

In the end, Riley received a two-day suspension for inappropriate conduct on school grounds. Ken received a three-day suspension for physical violence. Steve, who was guilty of both misdemeanours, received five days, and Principal Chang warned him that any further misconduct would be grounds for expulsion, regardless of his value to the McKinley Bulls.

One thing that the Tanner parents kept stressing was that Riley was absolutely forbidden from seeing either of their sons again. They’d reiterated this to the young redhead in no uncertain terms on their way out of the office, each dragging their respective sons away by the elbow. Riley’s parents, emerging in a much calmer fashion, had suggested that some time apart would help him figure out how he felt about each of the Tanner boys.

Riley disagreed, and he wasn’t alone. Later that night, he, Ken and Steve met up at the weed house. Riley had been surprised to find out that Steve even knew about it, given their contempt for one another. As it turned out, the homeowner was a former quarterback for the Bulls, and he’d only found out about Ken’s green thumb when he heard Steve joking about it on the sidelines at a football game. Evidently, he’d had enough social clout to force the jock to make an introduction, and now with Ken’s help, he supplied most of the local university with all their sticky-icky needs. It was a small world, after all.

To describe the mood in the basement as an awkward silence would be an understatement, but also slightly inaccurate, owing to the hum of the fluorescent lighting for the cannabis plants.

“So, what?” Ken broke the silence with a wrinkled nose. “Are we supposed to have a threesome now?”

“I’m game if I get the bottom half,” Steve said, staring at Riley’s shorts.

  
  
“No way,” Ken said quickly with a fierce glare.

  
  
Riley scowled. He’d never been a fan of objectification, especially not when he was on the receiving end. “No threesome!” he snapped, putting his hands on his hips. What was he going to do with these two?! He consoled himself that at least the hardest part was over: now that the conflict had come to a head and the Tanners could no longer claim ignorance about the problems going on with their children, the redhead dearly hoped that there’d be some improvements in their home life. In the meantime, he was sure he could help both of them address some of their personal issues. He wanted to try, at least.

  
  
“I don’t want this to become some kind of competition over me,” he told the step-brothers with a sigh. “Besides, I really don’t think you’d be able to tolerate intimacy, don’t you agree?”

  
  
Ken looked Steve up and down with a snide expression. “He’s an asshole,” he agreed.  


“His dick’s too big,” Steve shrugged, looking miffed.

“Exac-- wait, _what_?!” Ken exclaimed, wheeling round.

“You heard me,” Steve squinted. “Freak dicks are no good. I wouldn’t even know what to do with a club like that. Hope Riley’s a size queen.”

  
  
Ken’s cheeks flushed and his lips contorted with silent words before he got them into order in his head. “Oh, _go to hell_ , Steve...” he began, voice building in volume. 

“That’s enough!” Riley cut them off, stomping over to drag Ken away from his brother before things got physical again. “You two have got to stop fighting or one of you could end up expelled! There’s no way this is worth wrecking your futures over!”

Steve scoffed, and Ken huffed, folding his arms. “...Whatever.”

“Then just don’t fucking talk to me, asshole,” Steve snapped with him, hunching his shoulders. “I’m here to talk to Riley, anyway, not you.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Riley asked, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“How about when it’s my turn next?” Steve asked gruffly.

“How about never?” Ken glared at him.

“You’re just gonna hog him!”

“This isn’t about taking turns,” Riley told them sternly. He turned to Steve with a beseeching look. “I really think I can help you, Steve. You already have such a good sense of your own desires, you just need to develop better communication skills and learn informed consent.”

“Careful,” Steve warned him, glancing at Ken. 

“We can work through it another time,” Riley conceded with a sigh.

“Well, _when_ , then?” the brunette complained, looking between the two of them with a frown. “Am I just supposed to fuck off while you two boink in the basement?”

“We’re _not_. We’re baking cookies,” Riley told him. “It’s fun, I just have to remember not to lick the spoon.”

“Whatever,” Steve said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll you at school… eventually.” With that, he swaggered over to the door, and left.

Riley noticed Ken was much quieter than usual as he measured out chocolate chips. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“... Is my dick really too big?” Ken asked uneasily.

Classic adolescent insecurity. All Steve had needed to do was speak it into existence. Riley tried not to laugh in case it made it worse: not everyone had psychologists as parents, after all. “No,” he shook his head, smiling. “It’s not too big. It might take some more practice than others, but heaps of guys with big dicks do just fine. I mean, you’re big, but you’re not porn-star big,” Riley chuckled good-naturedly.

  
  
“How big are porn stars?” Ken asked, perturbed.

  
  
“Huh?” Riley blinked. He realised he’d assumed that Ken had seen plenty of examples. "You've never seen porn?"

  
  
“No way,” Ken shook his head with fear in his eyes. “Sharon caught Steve jerking off to porn once, and she _freaked_. The yelling lasted like an hour. She says porn is fake anyway.”

It occurred to Riley that there may have been a glimmer of good intentions behind the Tanner’s incredibly poor parenting style. The execution was no doubt traumatic if it had been bad enough to spook Ken out of watching porn altogether just from what had happened to his step-brother. However, she had inadvertently ensured that the boy’s early exposure to sexuality was in person, not on a screen. Pornography was interesting, yes, but it could also be problematic, especially without any real-world context to compare it to. Riley’s parents had told him all about it. It hadn’t _stopped_ him from looking up some videos online, per se, but it did prepare him for it.

  
  
“I’ve seen a bit of porn,” Riley admitted, leaning against the counter. “More out of curiousity than anything else. It was…” he trailed off, raising his eyebrows with the memory. “There were definitely some big dicks, but I didn’t find any of it fulfilling.”

“Told you,” Ken shrugged. “It’s all fake.”

Confirmation bias. Riley let it slide. “Anyway,” he carried on, “The point is, don’t let Steve get to you with stuff like that. I’m a little worried he might start being verbal now that he knows violence will have consequences.”

  
  
“His dad was so mad he got called away from his open house, he took away the keys to Steve’s car,” Ken sniggered. “I got off easy, I just have to weed the whole garden and mow the lawn for a month. No pun intended,” he chuckled as he pulled a tub of butter out of the fridge. Ken had tried to explain the process of infusing butter with cannabis on the way over, but Riley had never been much of a baker, so he couldn’t visualise it. Even now as he watched the taller boy scoop butter into a bowl over a saucepan of simmering water, it looks like a craft that Ken had learned well over the years. It kind of reminded the redhead of chemistry, which wasn’t exactly his strong suit. He’d always been better at English and Art.

  
  
“So what did you do with Steve?” Ken asked conversationally as he stirred the melting cannabutter. 

Riley pressed his lips together. “I told you,” he said evasively. “He gave me a blow job.”

“Yeah, but what else?” Ken glanced over his shoulder. “Come on, he’s not here any more, you can tell me.”

“Uh-uh,” Riley shook his head. “It’s private.”

“He’s an asshole,” Ken countered.

“Well, how would _you_ like it if I told Steve what _we_ did together?” Riley pouted.

Ken stopped stirring and turned around with a look of trepidation in his one, visible eye. “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t, just like I won’t tell you now.” Riley stuck out his tongue, causing the other boy to sigh.

  
“Fine,” Ken groaned, turning back to the stove. “Keep your secrets. I bet whatever we did was better, anyway.” 

  
Coming around the kitchen counter, Riley grinned as he caught the smirk pulling at the corner of Ken’s lips. “Hmm? Still trying to make this a competition?” he teased, hand sliding over Ken’s stomach. He giggled when he felt the boy jolt at the touch. 

  
“Jeez! Riley, not when I’m at the stove,” Ken scolded him, using the wooden spoon to steady the bowl sitting in the saucepan. 

  
“Sorry.” Riley smiled, moving his hand up to the boy’s chest, instead. He pressed his cheek against Ken’s shoulder as he watched the pat of butter slowly melt away in the bowl with the aid of Ken’s careful stirring.  
“...I could suck your dick too, you know,” Ken mumbled. 

  
“I know,” Riley answered softly, glancing up at the boy’s face. “But do you _really_ want to, or do you just want to do it because Steve did?” 

  
Ken frowned. “I don’t know. Both? Maybe.”  


“There are other things we can do,” Riley told him fondly, briefly hugging him tighter. “Besides… Steve was…” he searched for the words. “Steve was really into it, but he’s not really into _me_ , you know? I’m pretty sure I was just a means to an end. There wasn’t an emotional connection like there is with you.”

Riley’s felt Ken’s heart beat faster under his hand. The boy didn’t say anything for a while, just blushed and turned to give the boy a kiss on the forehead. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Riley purred, snuggling against Ken’s shoulder. Feeling Ken’s heartbeat under his hand made his own pulse pick up. The feeling was new and kind of exciting, but in a totally different way to the simple sexual interest he’d had in the boy before. 

“You wanna back up a little bit so we can make this dough?” Ken chuckled softly.

“No,” Riley answered, batting his eyelashes. Ken’s body was warm, and he smelled good.

Ken let out a huff of laughter, letting go of the spoon to embrace the boy properly. “You wanna do something else?” he asked suggestively, breath tickling the shell of Riley’s ear. 

“Mmm… cookies first,” Riley gave an impish smile, remembering the first night they’d spent together. “Then maybe we can get creative with that oven timer.”

The End


End file.
